


Shoe Concert

by demalore



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reverse Falls, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demalore/pseuds/demalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gleeful twins have been losing their edge.  Once the unrivaled celebrities of Gravity Falls, a series of mishaps, the latest being Mabel's mini-golfing disaster, have left them in need of something to put them back on top.  And what could be better than an innocent benefit concert?  Perhaps they'll even get a certain demon to help out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Though that night’s show had long since concluded, the Tent of Telepathy still swelled with light, a white triangle against a clear, speckled sky.  Owls hooted their nocturnal good-mornings, which fell on a single pair of human ears.  Dipper hardly registered the noise, too focused on the tome before him to give mundane creatures a second thought.

The sound of a limousine rose and fell with a heavy sigh, parking next to the tent.  Animal noises all but disappeared, leaving only the crackle of high-heeled shoes on gravel.  Head still tuned to Journal 2, Dipper’s ears combed the air for signs of Mabel’s mood.  There was a burst of the Tent’s flaps, a chair digging grooves into the ground, and the table accepting the entire weight of Mabel‘s torso as she let herself slump opposite her brother.  Reflexively, Dipper tensed up, preparing himself for the burden of conversation that was sure to follow.

“I take it the game didn’t go well,” he commented, voice scrubbed clean of sympathy.

“I can’t believe it, Dipper!”  Mabel huffed.  “The one time I was sure to win, and that stupid girl makes a complete fool of me!”

Dipper held his tongue as a number of snappy responses flitted through his mind.   _Not like you needed her help_ , he thought smugly.  Had their roles been reversed, Mabel wouldn’t have been so generous as to keep her insults unflung.  “I’m sure you’ll get her next time,” he shrugged apathetically, fingers itching to move on to the next page.

“You don’t _care?"_  Mabel snapped, rising from her chair, arms outstretched toward her twin.  “That’s one more score against us!  At this rate, _we’ll_ be the town laughingstocks, forced to live in some crummy old shack.”

“This little rivalry is cute and all, but I’m trying to get some work done,” Dipper sighed with a pointed flip of the page.

Mabel’s face began to burn, her anger over her recent loss having nowhere to escape save through a furious shake of the table.  “Don’t play this game with me, Dipper!  You really think we’re going to get the Shack if I can’t even win at _mini golf?_ ”

Dipper blinked, the Journal in front of him seeming to fall miles away.  It was true, they were on a losing streak.  They had nearly landed in prison thanks to a certain triangular embarrassment, and the Pines seemed to be rallying more support each day.  He had thought getting the Shack would be a cakewalk once Stan Pines had two brats to fuss over, but now Dipper was getting desperate.

“Fine,” he submitted, shutting his book.  “What do you suggest we do?”

Mable’s scowl diffused, twisting into a smirk reminiscent of her usual confidence.  “Oh, I have an idea…”


	2. Chapter 2

“Is this really the best you could think of?”

“Trust me, the suckers in this town eat this stuff up,” Mabel assured Dipper, carrying a laundry basket full of shoes into the Tent.  Piles of footwear already graced the seats and aisles, leaving only the stage clear.  “A little charity event’ll get everyone’s attention, remind them who the _real_ town darlings are.”

“The music performance I understand,” Dipper said, watching Mabel and her heap of garbage with distaste, “but why all the shoes?”

“That’s the charity part, dummy,” Mabel explained with a roll of her eyes, adding a second layer of clogs and boots to the Tent floor as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  “For every dollar we make, we give away a pair of shoes.”

“To _who_?  Who in their right mind would want these festering foot-bags?”

“I dunno, orphans, hoboes, hobo orphans...I’m sure someone will take them.  The point is, this’ll bring people back in.  Trust me.”

“If you say so,” Dipper surrendered, turning to exit the canvas tent that was beginning to reek of feet.

Mabel snagged her brother’s sequined collar and pulled him back into the stink.  “I _do_ say so.  And I also say that you’re going to stay and decorate while I go get more shoes.”

“Mabel, I have _work_ to do!”  Dipper whined, attempting to jerk his hand away from Mabel’s iron grip.

“Darn right you do,” Mabel agreed, throwing Dipper against the back row of seats.  “Start with some streamers.  And maybe try and do something about the smell.”  The tent flaps engulfed her before Dipper could protest, leaving him alone with nearly a hundred pairs of shoes.

“I swear, that sister of mine treats me more like a slave,” Dipper grumbled, bending down to organize the shapeless sea of footwear.  While reaching for a sneaker, he froze, the taste of his last word still lingering in his mouth.

“Well, then,” he grinned, walking quickly to the table where the Journal still lay.  “Perhaps I just need a slave of my own...”


	3. Chapter 3

Thankfully, Dipper had kept the candles from last time, and only had to reference Journal 2 for the incantation.  His first summoning had been jarring, blood-curdling, but now even the involuntary spasm of blue-eyed chanting felt humdrum.  His expectations were much lower this time around.

With a barely perceptible flicker, a light blue triangle appeared against the off-white tent background.  The demon’s single watery eye gazed up at Dipper, wringing his top hat between his two shaking hands.

“Y-yes?” Bill prompted with a soft glow, as though trying not to disturb a monster slumbering nearby.

“This is your chance for redemption, demon,” Dipper declared authoritatively, glaring down at Bill with his hands on his hips.  “Nothing hard this time.  I assume even _you_ can at least hang a few streamers?”

Bill untwisted his hat, holding it delicately between his fingers.  “Sure!” he chirped, “I can do that!”  Releasing his hat, which floated of its own accord to hover an inch or so above his topmost point, Bill held out his left hand, ablaze with bright yellow flame.  “What’ll you give me?”

“ _Give_ you?”  Dipper taunted with a laugh.  “Consider yourself lucky I summoned you at all.  Don’t mess this one up and maybe next time I’ll give you a dog treat.”

Bill’s pupil wavered.  The promising flame died, leaving his outstretched hand nothing more than a shattered hope.  “Oh, okay,” Bill whimpered, retrieving his hat from its perch to juice it some more.  Giving Dipper one last pitiful look, he hovered wobbily to the Tent’s entrance, picking up a roll of streamers nearly as big as himself.

“Make it pretty,” Dipper called with a wave of his hand, snagging his Journal from the floor and leaving the Tent.

Given a few minutes to himself, Bill’s indignant sniffling dried into a hum that was almost cheerful.  Demeaning as the task was, at least it wasn’t scary or dangerous like his last assignment.  He enjoyed hanging the streamers, imagining how nice they would make the Tent look if he ever got the chance to burn it down.


	4. Chapter 4

The Mystery Hack looked even grosser, and less structurally sound, up close.  Mabel had given up wondering what her brother would do with it once it was ‘within his clutches’ and instead imagined how she was going to redecorate it.  That eyesore of a sign would be the first thing to go, then maybe a fresh coat of paint, something to hide the fact that it was reaching its final stages of decomposition.

Her high heels clicked up the steps and found a comfortable home in the welcome mat.  Mabel adjusted her hair, unrumpled her satin skirt, and set a hand saucily against her waist.  A manicured finger ignited the doorbell, setting her heart thumping against her sparkling costume.

The door swung inward.  A blonde girl stepped to the threshold, head raised slightly to look her visitor in the eyes.  Her attire consisted of a pair of patchwork overalls, a few ugly green scarves, and a bath loofa converted into a soggy headpiece.  Colorful as it was, it couldn’t match the brightness in her eyes.  No matter her history with this particular person, a guest was a guest.

“Hi Mabel!” Pacifica squealed, taking Mabel’s hands while hopping up and down in her ballet slippers.  “Last night was fun, huh?  You’re really great at mini-golf!  Wanna come inside and--”

“Ew, as _if_ ,” Mabel sneered, pulling her hands away, fingers awry in disgust.  Wiping her hands on her near-transparent tights, she leaned further into the doorway and tried looking around Pacifica’s hyperactive form.  “Is Gideon home?  I wanted to tell him something.”

“Oh, sure!”  Pacifica replied.  She leaned back and hollered into the living room, “Gid, you got company!”

When her brother didn’t immediately appear at her side, Pacifica marched into the other room and pulled him forcefully to the front door.

“Ugh, what do _you_ want?” Gideon spat.  Mabel sighed dreamily, batting her eyes and trying to wink at the same time.  This impressive display was missed by its target, as Gideon was too busy inspecting the doorknob to pay Mabel any attention.

“I just wanted to let you know that we’re throwing a concert at the Tent of Telepathy this Friday.  Should be romantic,” she cooed with a toss of her long brown hair.  Only some of it landed successfully behind her shoulders, the rest falling flat and swinging in front of her face.  Through a mouthful of hair, Mabel continued, “I know-- _pfbtt_ \--you aren’t busy, so you should-- _blepht_ \--stop by.”  Giving up, Mabel pulled her spit-sodden hair to the back of her neck.  “Besides, there’ll be tons of shoes, and I know how much you like those!”

“Actually, we _are_ busy Friday night,” Gideon responded matter-of-factly, “It’s free corn dog night at the Mystery Shack.  Grunkle Stan says they’re hardly even expired, so it should be pretty busy over here.”

Gideon wrinkled his nose.  “And who said I liked _shoes?_  I don’t really care what people put on their feet, especially not if they look like a kindergartner's art project.”

Mabel glanced down at her high heels.  Their light blue color was hardly visible under the overdose of sequins she had applied to them.  “B-but you said last night that you--”

“Paz, I’m going out.  Cover for me?”  With a little maneuvering, Gideon made it past Mabel without having to endure so much as a hair-ruffle.

Pacifica proudly gave her brother a thumbs-up.  “You got it!”  Raising her head hopefully to Mabel, whose mouth still hung open dumbfoundedly, Pacifica snapped right back to her previous train of thought.  “So _now_ do you want to--”

The door slammed shut.  Mabel turned around in time to see Gideon disappear into the woods without so much as a goodbye.

_Oh, we’ll see who’s busy on Friday, my white-haired wonder_ , Mabel thought, storming away from the secluded shack.   _Enjoy your free corn dogs while you still can._


	5. Chapter 5

Laden with four glass jars with swiss-cheese lids, Dipper returned to the Tent.  His bangs dripped sweatily over his birthmark, which, like the rest of his face, was red with exhaustion.  Dipper went immediately to his table, setting the jars down with a clatter and flinging the Journal open.  The creatures he had captured tittered anxiously, scraping and slithering against their transparent cages.

Mabel followed shortly after, her attention going straight to the Tent’s decorations, or rather, the lack thereof.  While her brother fiddled with some kind of octopus-bear, the Tent floor was littered with torn streamers, while the walls were almost bare.  Only the entrance was adequately adorned with streamers.  Somewhere between the entrance and the left wall the blue strips of paper had given up, falling into a tangled mess of crepe ruffles and knots of tape.  Mabel knelt down to untangle it, and realized that it was sobbing.

“Dipper, this isn’t one of your _things_ , is it?” Mabel asked, eyebrow raised questioningly.  She felt like she should be angry, but was too baffled to raise her voice.

Dipper looked up, not immediately recognizing what Mabel was referring to.  The thing let out a higher cry, lurching away from Mabel’s voice.  Dipper removed himself from his chair and picked up the sticky mess, peeling away the layers of soggy party supplies until a sobbing Bill sat in his hand, staring pitifully up at Dipper.

“Bill,” Dipper breathed, eyes falling shut, “is there a problem?”

Bill waited before answering, “N-no, there’s no problem, mister Di--”

“Then why aren’t you hanging the streamers like you’re _supposed_ to be doing?”  Dipper’s patient tone began to break with annoyance.

“I-I was hanging streamers!” Bill stammered.  He tried to stand, but a few stray pieces of tape sent him bouncing back into Dipper’s palm.  “I just...got a little stuck..”  His voice broke, and his eye quavered with held back tears.

“Stuck?” Mabel stung, marching up next to her brother, adding her own disapproving glare to his own.  “We have one day to make this place show-stoppingly perfect and you get _stuck?_ ”  With a hard pinch, she brought Bill inches from her eyes, immune to his soggy hyperventilation.  “Keep this up, Bill, and a little tape will be the least of your problems.”  Mabel swung her arm around and tossed Bill like a frisbee to the other side of the Tent.

A slight swivel was all Mabel needed to redirect her fury at her brother, who seemed just as nervous as the demon sniveling in the corner.  “Dipper, this just got serious, we’re competing against  _free corn dogs_.  We can’t waste time with Boo-Hoo Ranch over there, we need _pizazz_ and we need it _now!_ ”

“N-no problem, Sis,” Dipper assured her, tightening his arms protectively against his torso.  “I can whip up some spells, hang some posters, whatever we need!”  He staggered to his feet and rushed toward the Tent’s exit.  “In fact, I’ll go to the party store right now!”

“That’s more like it,” Mabel approved, arms crossed.  Bill gathered himself and returned to his task, though he dropped the streamers a few times in the process of restarting.  He avoided Mabel’s gaze best he could, but couldn’t avert the condescending shakes of her head.

“Honestly, I couldn’t imagine a more useless demon.  You’d be better off as an exhibit at the Mystery Shack, you’re certainly pathetic enough.”

Bill refused to respond, absorbed in making sure he didn’t get tangled in the tape again.  His triangular form was quivering again, but he had ceased his crying.  The smell of smoke coming from his part of the Tent was indistinguishable thanks to the hills of stinking shoes around him, and the tiny scorch marks on the streamers were, at first glance, nothing more than a trick of the light.


	6. Chapter 6

After its rocky start, the Tent of Telepathy was flourishing under Mabel’s painstaking care.  Dipper cranked out theatrical black-and-white posters promising plenty of mystical wonders, complimentary refreshments, and, yes, shoes.  Mabel brought in the best musicians Gravity Falls had to offer and, surprisingly enough, had gotten them to play something resembling music.  Even Bill had managed to hang the streamers without another incident, and, this task complete, vanished before he could be burdened with another.

Things were looking hopeful until Mabel noticed a stink bug crawling from her box of scented markers.  She pulled the Strawberry Red one out to shoo the pest away, and instead found a dozen more beetles crawling around the sweet-smelling marker.  It wasn’t long until Dipper found a similar insect epidemic breeding among his talismans and artifacts, making his spellcasting a much more squeamish ordeal than usual.  Finding that Bill wasn’t around to blame, Mabel looked aimlessly around the Tent for the source of the problem.

Dipper watched her darting around for a solid minute before inquiring pleasantly, “Mabel, dear, where exactly did you get all these shoes, again?”

“From the dump, where else?” she answered quickly, looking under the table for the fifth time.

“I see.  And is it possible that there are insects at the dump?”

“Duh, of _course_ there are,” Mabel growled, practically throwing the piece of furniture back to the ground.  “Why do you--”

Dipper raised a single shoe from the Tent floor.  As Mabel watched, two six-legged creatures fell from their upturned abode, with a few others pioneering onto Dipper’s hand.

“Oh, I see, so this is all _my_ fault,” Mabel barked, a blush forming around her wrinkled nose.  “In that case, _you_ can be the one to clean out all these shoes, _brother dear_.”

Dipper winced, “I didn’t say--this isn’t-- _fine_ ,” he acquiesced.  He slumped grumpily to the floor, looking over the bug-infested sneakers around him.  Mabel left him where he was, skipping out with a sugary excuse on her lips.  It didn’t matter, Dipper knew that she would leave this revolting task to him.

He wasn’t going to stand for this.  Being forced to play along with this ‘charity’ thing was bad enough, but he wasn’t going to spend the day scrubbing out rotting shoelaces.  That was a job for someone with a little less of a backbone.  Or, he corrected himself, someone with no bones at all.


	7. Chapter 7

“Not again…” Bill moaned, crawling begrudgingly out of the mindscape to face Dipper for the second time that day.  His arms were wrapped around his brick abdomen, providing little comfort against the tormenting task he was sure was coming.

“It’s your lucky day, Bill,” Dipper grinned, “two jobs in one day!  And this is a nice, big, grueling one, especially for _you!_ ”

Bill listened without so much as a whimper, the top curve of his singular eye collapsing with unnatural anger.  His pale blue color began to sicken with red and yellow hues, twisting uncertainly around his bow tie.  Dipper paid no attention to Bill’s changed appearance, just glad that he hadn’t begun crying again.

“We have a bit of a vermin problem,” Dipper explained, looking at his fingernails and hoping that he looked more confident than he felt.  “So you can just clean up all these shoes, sound good?”

“...and for me?” Bill inquired, floating closer to Dipper.  He kept his hands close to his body, making it clear that he would no longer make a one-sided deal.

Dipper paused, having hoped that Bill would be as much of a pushover as last time.  He hadn’t planned for this unlikely contingency, and was reluctant to offer up anything of value.  “How about we discuss that after you’ve finished?” Dipper offered, arms crossed.  “After all, you might just be defeated by office supplies again.”

The demon vibrated, containing a rush of emotion he hadn’t felt in a while.  “Fine.  But when I clean the shoes, am I allowed to take out the soles?”

“Sure, Bill,” Dipper waved the question away.  “Take out all the soles you want.”

“Deal,” Bill stated, holding out his hand, alight with demon flame.  Dipper took it without a second thought, wondering why Bill was wasting his time with this formality.  Bill hadn’t required a handshake last time, since Dipper hadn’t given him anything.  Was this just an oversight, or--

An electric jolt passed through Dipper’s muscles, from the vestigial ones in his ears to the linked ones in his toes.  His stomach writhed with sickness, but the sensation cut off quickly.  His entire sense of touch was gone, as though someone had injected him with the world’s fastest acting anesthesia.  His hearing and sight remained, although something felt wrong with his vision.  It was drifting forward, while his body was motionless.  He tried to yell, and recognized the burst of voice as his own, but couldn’t feel his lips and tongue move to accommodate the sound, or his vocal chords stretching to produce the desired volume.  He couldn’t feel anything at all.

Bill was nowhere to be seen.  Dipper turned his neck to look for him, but instead saw his own body, having fallen to the floor without someone to direct it.  He reached instinctively toward it, and saw that his current limbs were mere illusions, lines of foggy gray containing a transparent body.  It was like he was a ghost, but he hadn’t died, had he?

“Hey, it actually worked!” someone chirped in Dipper’s voice.  Dipper watched his legs push against the floor, torso pivoting upward.  He stared at his own face, a living, breathing mirror.  The eyes were the only thing that were definitely not his own: two stretched pupils fixed on him, swimming in pools of ghastly yellow.  Both exact copies of Bill’s eye.  “Whatsa matter, Dipper?  Cat got your body?”

Bill laughed at his own bad joke.  Even though it was his own voice, Dipper knew it wasn’t his laugh.  It was too unrestrained, too raw to be his own.  He had never heard Bill laugh, and would never have expected it to be so haunting.

“W-what’s going on, Bill?  How did this happen?” Dipper rambled, panic making his voice high and broken.  It was disconcerting to be yelling at himself instead of a little blue triangle.  Bill seemed much less weak in this state, bearing two gleaming eyes and a wicked, toothy smile.

“We made a deal!  I clean the shoes, and in exchange, I get to take out all the souls I want!”  Bill began to laugh again, enjoying the sound of his booming voice.  His lips were stretched over his teeth, already beginning to crack from the strain.

“I-I said _soles_ , Bill!  It’s a stupid homophone, you know what I meant!”

“Good thing it wasn’t a _written_ contract then, huh?” Bill cackled.  “It’s not _my_ fault if you use compromising word choice.  Serves you right anyway for trying to cheat me again.”

Becoming aware of his legs, Bill began to wobble, uncertainty overriding his body’s autopilot.  He moved his right foot a few inches and nearly fell down as a result, not used to being subject to gravity’s influence.  Tongue unwittingly sticking out of his mouth, Bill struggled to regain his balance, arms flailing in huge, dramatic circles.

“Careful, don’t make me fall down, idiot!” Dipper scolded, reaching to catch himself every time Bill swung close to the ground.  Bill’s body passed right through Dipper’s spectral limbs, reminding him of just how powerless he was.

“How do you steer this thing?” Bill frowned, now leaning back and forth, apparently trying to turn around.  Unsuccessful, he stomped right into the wall of the Tent.  The support poles jangled, but held firm against Bill’s meddling.

Bill picked up his feet carefully, taking steps one at a time to face the opposite direction.  Dipper groaned; it had been about two minutes and Bill was already running into walls.  The only silver lining was that someone would have to notice soon.

 _Right on time_ , Dipper thought, hearing someone approaching the Tent.  Mabel peered in, and saw her brother standing around doing nothing.  Bill lolled his head around, beaming widely at her.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already finished cleaning all of these,” Mabel said, stepping carefully around the heaps of shoes.  “I just came back for my purse, so don’t think I’m going to help you.”

“I'm on it, Mabel!” Bill bellowed, swinging his legs around in order to face her.  His head dangled loosely from his neck, either too tired or negligent to lift up.

Mabel looked her brother over, her suspicion lasting only a moment before haste took its place.  “Whatever.  I don’t want to see any more bugs when I get back.”

“Roger!” Bill exclaimed.  Once the girl had gone, he turned to smirk at Dipper, who had been floating silently behind him.  His eyes were wide with mute horror, refusing to comprehend what he had seen.

“Guess she doesn’t miss you much!” Bill shrugged.  He looked down, decided against figuring out how to sit down normally, and instead collapsed to the floor with a series of meaty thuds and a single, quiet snap.  He made a face and pulled his left arm from under his back, where it had been crushed into an awkward looking position.  “This thing’s fragile, huh?”  The area above his elbow was starting to swell, and Bill seemed to grow more uncomfortable as he continued to raise it.  “And this is your good hand, isn’t it?”

Dipper gasped, hovering to the arm Bill had injured and holding an intangible hand to it.  It was clear he wouldn’t be able to control Bill, and definitely couldn’t convince him to give him his body back.  For now his best bet was to get Bill to stop moving around too much, and hope that it would wear off or something.  He despised the futility of the situation, but in this form, he had none of the advantages he usually did.

“Bill, just...just take it easy, okay?” he prayed, scanning his body for any other marks.  Apart from the arm, which just seemed to be sprained, Bill looked okay.  Still, if this recklessness continued for even half an hour more, who knew what Bill would do to his body.

“Oh, but I can’t do _that_ ,” Bill pointed out, “I have to fix up all these shoes, remember?”

“Don’t worry about it, I can do it, if you just give me back--”

“Great idea!” Bill proclaimed.  He wiggled off the white stage gloves Dipper had been wearing and thrust them toward the bodiless boy.  “You can use these to take care of the shoes!”

Dipper stretched out his hand to match the contours of the glove, and found that the fingers moved with his own when he wore it.  He took in a deep breath, relieved to have gained at least a little of his former ability.  At least he wasn’t a mere phantom anymore.

Dipper began picking through the shoes, looking for signs of arthropodic hitchhikers.  Even though he had the gloves, and there was nothing underneath them, he still flinched at the slightest sign of movement.  As he held a moldy flip-flop closer to his face, he caught Bill getting up to leave.

“And where are _you_ going?” Dipper interrogated.  The pair of white gloves floated closer to Bill, who watched them with amusement.

“Out!” he answered peppily.  His left arm dangled at his side, but he was still employing his right arm, holding it out for balance as he walked.  “You’re taking care of my job, so I’m free to go!”

“B-but!..” Dipper sputtered.  The gloves curled into each other, forming shaking balls of fabric.  He could only imagine what trouble Bill would get into outside the Tent, but trying to stop him would only make things worse.  “Fine, just be _careful_ , please!”

“Whatever you say!”  The movements of Bill’s legs were becoming more fluid, and he made it to the Tent’s entrance without so much as tripping.

Before departing, he turned around and shot Dipper a sarcastic smile.  “Make it pretty!”


	8. Chapter 8

Two visitors in one day was unprecedented at the Mystery Shack.  Besides the usual hordes of tourists, there was only the occasional lost hiker to look forward to.  And after seeing the kinds of knick-knacks adorning the run-down building, they never stayed very long.

Pacifica leaped out of her seat to answer the door.  She had been hoping for Mabel, but Dipper was the next best thing.  At least, he would have been if he hadn’t looked like so much like a maniac when she opened the door.  “Oh, hey!” she greeted with a dampened smile, a little uneasy but trying to be optimistic.  She didn’t want to get ahead of herself, and Dipper’s foot-long grin was creeping her out.

“Hi Pacifica!” Bill yelled, loud enough for everyone in the Shack to hear easily.  “How are you, huh?”

“I’m...fine,” Pacifica quavered, pulling self-consciously on her loofa headband.  “How about--”

“I’m feeling _superb!_ ”  Bill gushed, spinning around sloppily to take in the nature around him.  “The air is all warm from the sun, and there are so many animals that run away from you!  Has walking always been so fun?”

“Why are you here?” Pacifica interjected.  Dipper’s atypical behavior was a bit suspicious, but at the same time, she could only hope it was simply the result of a good mood.

“To see you, silly!” Bill laughed, pushing Pacifica inside to get into the Shack.  He looked around hungrily, each floorboard and curtain a feast for his senses.  The little willpower he had was being used to keep his left hand motionless at his side, but he could still use his right hand to smudge and caress everything he passed.  “Your house is neat!”

“Y-you think?” Pacifica laughed, following Dipper as he meandered to the living room.  Gideon was already sitting up in his chair, prepared to face typical Dipper, but in no way ready for what swung through the doorway.

“Hey, Gideon!” Bill shouted, unaware of how his new, confident voice filled the tiny room.  “How’s that Journal, huh?”

“Fine,” Gideon snipped, his right hand slipping into his jacket just to affirm that it was still there.

“So you guys are coming on Friday, right?  To the big show at the Tent?” Bill asked, swaying back to Pacifica.

“Uh, no, we actually have plans,” Pacifica answered meekly, almost afraid to contradict this unpredictable Dipper.  It wasn’t like him to be so forward.

“Yeah, so you might as well get lost,” Gideon grumbled.  Whatever Dipper was trying to pull, he refused to be fooled by it.  This little act was more amusing than threatening, although Gideon couldn’t find it in him to laugh.

Bill looked confused, lips puckered in a tight circle.  “‘Kay,” he nodded distantly, retracing his steps to the front door without another word.  Even in this body, it seemed, he continued to be pushed around, not taken seriously.  The corners of his eyes pinched in, a wave of familiar grief lapping onto his newfound pond of confidence.

“Wait, Dipper!” Pacifica called before Bill had a chance to leave.  She took his hands, unaware of his injury, and looked eagerly into his squinted eyes.  “You..can still stay, if you want.”

“Psh,” Gideon spat disapprovingly, ignoring the duo as he went upstairs to his room.  He was used to his sister crushing on every boy she met, but this was ridiculous.

Bill looked at Pacifica’s hands, as if they were casting some kind of petrification spell on him.  He knew that he had to get going before Dipper got mad, yet he felt the urge to stay.  A fuzzy, irrational emotion built up behind his eyes, pushing out the tears without any of the sadness.

“Oh...okay,” he trembled, taking Pacifica’s lead and reentering the house.  She guided him to the living room floor and snatched a glittery wooden box from under the armchair.

“Now,” she giggled mischievously, “what kind of fingernail polish do you like?”


	9. Chapter 9

A single hand peeped through the tent flaps, clutching the thick canvas for dear life.  Dipper, having just finished with the shoes, didn’t notice until he decided to go look for Bill.  Finding his stolen body was much easier than he thought, as it had been standing silently in front of the Tent for a the last ten minutes.

“Bill?” Dipper prodded, noting the SuperSparklz fingernail polish adorning the solitary hand.  Not something Dipper typically wore, but he could tell it was his hand.

The hand withdrew from Dipper’s acknowledgement, slipping outside with a shudder.  Dipper stuck his head through the entrance and discovered Bill, right arm wrapped around his body, his lower lip raw from being chewed.

“Oh, hi, Dipper,” Bill addressed guiltily, “Did you finish those shoes?”

“No thanks to you,” Dipper answered gruffly.  Bill's left arm looked a little better--the swelling had gone down, at least.  But from the way Bill was looking at him like a dog that peed on the rug, Dipper suspected that there was something else the matter.  “Don’t tell me, you broke your leg or something?”

“Oh, no!” Bill responded in a lighter tone, “Pacifica just did my nails and my hair!  Isn’t it pretty?”

Dipper glowered at the mop atop his head.  The wayward spikes and missing clumps he would had attributed to Bill, but he supposed even Bill wouldn’t have thought to put bows and glitter in his hair.  It could only be the work of the Pines girl.  Dipper glanced down at his shoes, which had been put on the wrong feet, and assumed that his toenails had been painted as well as his fingernails.

“Nice to know you’re having fun,” Dipper jeered, “but since the shoes are done, I believe it’s time for you to go.”

Bill slumped, disappointed but making no move to argue.  “You’re probably right.  Having a body is pretty dangerous, anyway, and I think I breathed in too much glitter.”  He cowered, expecting a loud bout of nagging from his unwilling tenant.  “A-are you upset?”

Dipper’s eyes bore into Bill, his near-invisible fists shaking threateningly.  “What do you think, Bill?” he whispered harshly, “You trick me out of my body and make me do your work, and you ask if I’m _upset?_ ”

Fright startled Bill back a few steps, away from his raging doppelganger.  “I-I just wanted to have some fun, I--”

“Tell me, Bill, is this _fun?_ ” Dipper blazed, hovering just above Bill’s head and snarling down at him, teeth bared like a vicious animal, thirsty for blood.  “So help me, once you get out of that body--”

“Then I won’t get out!” Bill squeaked, hands cupped over his eyes.  “I’ll never leave, never ever ever!”

Dipper restrained himself, seeing that this wasn’t getting him anywhere.  “If you get out now,” he panted, voice still raised to an unstable level, “I promise I won’t do anything to you.”

“Liar!” Bill accused, removing his hands.  His eyes were wet, but the tears were already evaporating by the fury in his cheeks.  “You always cheat me!  This time I’ll cheat _you!_ ”

Dipper watched him skeptically, unable to take his anger seriously.  “Oh yeah, what are you going to do?  Get me an embarrassing tattoo or something?  I bet you couldn’t even _look_ at the needle they use.”

Bill’s face went blank, the streams of wetness all that remained of his short tantrum.  Gradually, a maniacal smile was drawn onto his lips, with two inhumanly wide eyes to match.  He giggled at first, then let out an abrupt “HA!” that gave Dipper a chill down his nonexistent spine.

“Nope, that’s not it!” Bill shook his head, “but you’ll find out soon!”


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey, get your-- _my_ hands off my stuff!”

“Why?  It’s not like you’re using it,” Bill observed, pushing aside the various glass jars.  Dipper wanted to believe Bill was just messing with his materials, but it was clear that the demon was looking for something specific.

“M-Mabel wanted me to rig up some fancy effects for the show,” Dipper blurted rapidly, “If she gets here and they’re not done, she’ll probably get mad..”

Unfazed by the threat, Bill continued shuffling, eventually pulling out Journal 2 from where Dipper had stashed it.  Dipper had meant to keep it away from Mabel, but apparently he should’ve focused more on keeping it from himself.

“That’s what I’m doing!” Bill simpered, hugging the precious book to his chest.  “Trust me, no one’s seen effects as special as what I have planned!”

Bill was flipping through the pages when Mabel came back, her makeshift concert band in tow.  “You’d better have those shoes done, Dipper, because if I find another termite in my hair--”

“All done!” Bill assured.  “Just working on some spells for the show!”

“Glad to hear it,” Mabel affirmed, gesturing the musicians to their places.  A clarinet’s mournful yelp broke through the shuffling of shoes, followed by an off-key tuba and a pair of drumsticks being dropped.  Mabel groaned, holding her conductor’s wand aloft, and tried to regain a sense of order.

Barely able to think straight with the nose, Dipper put the gloves back on and moved in front of Mabel.  He waved his arms, sweeping his hands in wide circles to snag her attention.  Mabel followed the ghostly gloves with her eyes, her mouth a thin, suspicious line.

“Dipper, are you the one doing this?” she inquired, head nodding with each upward motion of the gloves.  Dipper yelled that it wasn't him, but only Bill could hear his pleas.

“Yup!” Bill nodded, “isn’t it cool?”

Feeling more desperate, Dipper slapped Mabel across the face.  He knew he’d pay for it later, but the shock on her handprint-smitten face made up for it. Not to mention the fact that Bill’s eyebrows had shot up a foot, knowing full well he’d be blamed for this.

“‘Cool’ isn’t the word I’d use,” Mabel scowled, whipping around and strutting up to Bill, “and if you’re _smart_ , you’ll never try anything ‘cool’ like that again!”

Dipper followed her, and gave her long hair a sharp pull.  Mabel’s right hand sprung to the troublesome glove like a mousetrap.  His fingers behind crushed was the first thing Dipper had felt since losing his body, and this made the pain all the more agonizing.  Luckily, Mabel couldn’t hear his girlish shriek.

“You’re digging your own grave, Dipper,” Mabel grimaced, locking her other hand around Bill’s neck.  His mouth hinged open as he gulped for air, tongue flopping out like a dog’s on a hot day.  Struggling against Mabel’s grip was futile, and the more he panicked, the more precious air he lost.

Dipper gasped at the sight of his own suffocation.  Bill was being an idiot, too focused on trying to breath to fight back.  Dipper didn’t want to imagine what would happen if his body was fatally injured while he wasn’t inside it…

Wrenching his hand free, Dipper went in front of Mabel, gloves raised peacefully.  Mabel glanced up and loosened her fingers, allowing Bill to take a gulp of oxygen.  “Don’t try anything like that again,” she hissed through gritted teeth, giving Bill one last look before going back to the musicians, who had all been silent throughout the ordeal.

“I won’t,” Bill choked, his right hand cradling his bruised neck.  Instead of Mabel, he was shooting daggers at Dipper, who still wore the gloves.  Dipper removed them, throwing them away and slinking from Bill’s stare.  It was no use trying to get Mabel’s attention, she would sooner murder him than help him.

Bill returned to his reading, hunting through the pages of Journal 2, leaving Dipper to his own devices.  Dipper scoffed at being underestimated in such a way.  Sure, he didn’t have many options, but he had hardly given up.  He had one last card to play--an annoying, shrimpy card with weird hair, but a card nonetheless.


	11. Chapter 11

“We _have_ to go, Gid!” Pacifica implored, pulling on the sleeve of his blue-and-white-striped jacket.  “Didn’t you see how _sad_ he was?”

“He was faking, Paz.  And besides, there’s no way Stan will let us leave work to go see a concert at the Tent of Telepathy.  Just forget about it, okay?”

Pacifica pouted, keeping her hold on Gideon’s arm.  “But Dipper was so _nice!_  He let me paint his toenails!   _You_ don’t even let me do your _hair!_ ”

“That’s because--” Gideon began his rebuttal, but was stopped by the sight of a pair of mittens floating in midair.  They were clearly Pacifica’s, as they had googly eyes, lace, and uncooked macaroni noodles glued to them, but she seemed just as taken aback as her brother.

“Is it...are you a ghost?” Gideon asked, keeping his voice level.  In all likelihood, it was just a prank, but if it was something supernatural, the last thing he wanted to do was offend it.

The mittens gave a thumbs-down.  They shifted a bit, as though unsure of what to do next.

“Here!” Pacifica offered, pulling a thick gel pen from her pocket.  “Gideon, got any paper?”

Gideon looked fruitlessly for some scratch paper, and reluctantly handed over his Journal.  One of the mittens held it aloft, while the other, in pink, sparkling ink, printed: “This is Dipper.”

“You _died?_ ” Pacifica shrieked after reading the spirit’s message.  “I swear, the fingernail polish wasn’t _that_ toxic!”

“I already said I’m not a ghost,” the mitten scrawled, underlining the last three words.  “I just lost my body.  Bill has it now.”

“Bill who?” Gideon asked, racking his brain for a face to match the name.

The mitten with the pen rose and fell, palm smacking where Dipper’s forehead would be.  Next to the name ‘Bill’ he drew a triangle with a circle in the center.

“Aw, that little guy?” Pacifica gushed.  She swiped her pen back from Dipper and added Bill’s eyelashes, hat and bow, and a bunch of tears coming out of his eye.  “Bill’s a lil’ cutie.  Once he saw that we followed him into Stan’s dreamscape, he just curled up and wouldn’t stop crying for half an hour!”

“He tricked me!” Dipper wrote after regaining the pen.  “I’m afraid he’s up to something.”

“What, using up all your tissues?” Gideon taunted, laughing at the thought of that pitiful triangle doing anything but feeling sorry for itself.  “Once he hears a loud noise he’ll be begging you to take your body back.”

“It’s already been hours,” Dipper wrote frantically, “you two are the only ones who can help!”

“Oh _are_ we?” Gideon raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.  He used to be wary of Dipper, but the sight of his googly-eyed vessels put an end to his inhibitions.  “And why should we help _you?_ ”

“You don’t know what Bill’s planning,” Dipper added.  “If he can steal my body, who knows what else he can do?”

“I don’t know about you, Paz, but this sounds like a load of baloney,” Gideon said.  “Nice try, Dipper, but next time try making your threat actually _threatening._ ”

Pacifica didn’t seem so sure.  It would certainly explain why Dipper had acted so strange earlier, and since she had already promised to try to come to the concert, why would Dipper go through all this trouble to pretend Bill was involved?

“We’ll still come tomorrow, just to be safe,” Pacifica pledged softly.

The mittens fell.  Dipper supposed this was the best he could hope for, considering who he was asking.  It was at least better than nothing.

Without another written word, Dipper gave Pacifica back her pen and Gideon his Journal.  The mittens dropped to the floor, leaving no trace of the person who had been right in front of them.

“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” Gideon murmured, less certain now of his refusal to help.


	12. Chapter 12

Neither Bill nor Dipper could sleep in their new forms.  In Dipper’s case, he lacked the physical capability, and as for Bill, he was far too jittery.  Dipper caught the signs of exhaustion in Bill’s saggy eyelids and constant yawning, but Bill didn’t even try to doze off.  He kept looking from the Journal to a piece of paper he was scrawling on.  The page Bill was turned to was the one on Dipper’s telepathic amulet, but so far, Bill hadn’t tried to use it, instead just writing down words and symbols Dipper couldn’t comprehend.  Bill’s handwriting was sloppy, since he had to use his right hand, but the real problem was the foreign-looking language.

“Go to bed already,” Dipper groaned.  It almost felt like Bill was taunting him by purposefully not falling asleep.

“I’m too busy,” Bill murmured.  The Tent was lit by a single candle, and Bill’s eyes strained to make out the writing in the Journal.  Dipper could practically feel his eyes decaying from overuse.

“With what?” Dipper questioned.  The paper Bill was writing on just seemed to be a mess of squiggles and basic shapes, but it still felt hauntingly dangerous.  He wondered if it was some kind of demon writing.

“Don’t wanna ruin the surprise!” Bill smiled, putting a finger to his lips.  “Just wait until tomorrow.”

From the looks of it, it seemed Dipper had no choice but to do just that.


	13. Chapter 13

By the time the sun was settled above the horizon, a sizeable line formed outside the Tent of Telepathy.  Dipper’s posters had certainly done their job, as there was plenty of hype over this event.  Even some Mystery Shack regulars like Tyler were camped outside, eagerly awaiting the fall of night and the opening of the Tent’s welcoming flaps.

Bill was as excited as anyone, putting the finishing touches on whatever he had been working on.  Mabel didn’t ask too many questions, but could tell that it was something big, and that was enough to satisfy her.  It would need to be truly spectacular to make up for the lousy band and the recurrence of the suffocating shoe smell.

After Dipper lost focus for what couldn’t have been more than a minute, Bill had somehow found a ladder and climbed to the top of the Tent.  Unintelligible paper in hand, Bill made long Sharpie marks near the apex, staining the yellowed roof with symbols.

“Bill, get down from there!” Dipper ordered, “You’re going to fall!”

“I won’t fall,” Bill guaranteed, stretching to add one last line to his masterpiece.  Dipper knew for certain that there was nothing like this in his Journal.  Bill’s meddling had proceeded beyond just being annoying, he was planning something serious.

 _Although, just a few days ago, I wouldn't have believed that either…_ Dipper thought hopelessly.  If he hadn’t seen Bill’s wicked grin, or stayed up all night while he worked on this fateful project, he would have thought this was all some silly game.  But Bill was a demon, after all, and it appeared there was more to them than crying and cowering.

The band started up just as the sun was being pulled back around.  The music, no matter how dreadful, drew in even more people, collapsing the fragile line leading to the Tent into a buzzing crowd.  Lights shone from inside, casting eerie images on the slanted walls.  No one dared peek into the magical place, no matter how gargantuan their curiosity was growing.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mabel’s voice droned from hidden speakers once night had fallen, “For one night only, the Tent of Telepathy proudly presents... _Shoe Concert!"_   A haunting wail of brass instruments rose from the Tent, accompanied by a burst of blinding light.  The show hadn’t yet begun, and already some patrons were shivering with apprehension.

Seemingly on their own, the Tent flaps fell open, inviting all who dared into the pitch black interior, strumming with a soft tune.  Along with the sound of the band, this also released a burst of sweaty, stinking air.  People held their noses as they entered, but all it took was for one person to state that it was the 'smell of the undead' for everyone else to accept it as part of the show.  Even the horrible music quality was attributed to dark magics, and certainly not to a lack of skill or subpar instruments.

Mabel guided their customers in, relaying spooky messages over her microphone, enjoying herself more than she’d care to admit.  The seats in the Tent filled within minutes, but those who had to stand didn’t mind much.  In fact, some of them felt safer, knowing they would be the first ones out of the door if things got too intense.

For the time being, the most intense thing was the stink, as Bill was still on the ladder, ensuring his sigil wasn’t smudged.  Both hands were clasped around Dipper’s amulet, glowing a hue more blue than its usual greenish color.  Bill’s left arm was far from healed, but he hardly noticed the pain.  He sat alone on his lofty perch, waiting for a signal only he would recognize.

Dipper was busy scanning the crowd for Pacifica or Gideon.  Perhaps the boy could recognize the symbol from his own Journal, or even just distract Bill long enough for Dipper to regain control.  Dipper had spent more than a day in this incorporeal body, but couldn’t get used to having people walking through him.  And in that bustling tent, it happened quite often, making his task needlessly difficult.

Stars flared from above, unhindered by the sun’s garish light.  A few final people trickled in before the Tent flaps closed, enclosing over half of the town inside.  Among the people it hadn’t ensnared was the Pines family, much to Dipper’s disappointment.

When he returned to his Bill, Dipper was uncertain for a moment whether the body was truly his.  Bill's clothes were bathed in the blue light of the amulet.  The detailed buttons and seams were blurred, making his entire body appear as an unbroken swath of blue.  One of Bill’s eyes was pried as wide as the socket would allow, while the other was shut tight.  Dipper thought he caught a glimpse of something floating above Bill’s head, something thin and black.

“Bill, what are you doing?” Dipper gawked, knowing for certain that this had gone too far.

Bill’s single open eye continued staring ahead at the sigil, pulsing with life under his careful gaze.  His mouth was quietly shut, but his one long pupil seemed to do the laughing for it.

“Just part of the show, Dipper,” Bill whispered ecstatically.  The Sharpie marking was writhing now, pulling against the fabric upon which it was trapped.  Dipper still had no idea what this symbol meant, but instinct told him it was dangerous.  He backed away, arms raised helplessly toward the body that once was his.   _I’ve failed, there’s nothing I can--_

A pure white head of hair caught his attention.  Dipper could have cried with relief; it was Gideon and Pacifica!

“It’ll just be for a minute, promise,” Pacifica murmured to Gideon, looking at the Tent alive with noise and color.  It was certainly busier than the Mystery Shack, where Stan had overcooked the corn dogs and the kitchen fire had scared everyone away.

She had brought a mitten along, just in case, and yelped when it began wiggling of its own accord.  Dipper brought it in front of them and floated around the Tent, bringing the two siblings to the ladder where Bill was, still staring quietly at his creation.  The sigil was glowing now, and the lines seemed ready to crawl out of the second dimension.

“What _is_ that?” Gideon gaped, taking out his Journal and flipping to the back.  The symbol matched the one on a page about Bill, but there was no information as to its meaning or purpose.

The disembodied mitten scrawled a few words in the top margin of the page: “We need to stop him,” underlined multiple times.

“Fine, but what do we do?” Pacifica shouted over the roar of voices from inside.  A huge round of applause followed, indicating that something big had happened, and the music grew violently strong.  Above the two kids and floating mitten, Bill slowly raised his arms, igniting the sigil in his trademark yellow flame.

“You get Mabel, we’ll try and fix this,” Dipper wrote.  Pacifica nodded sharply and rushed around the tent.  Once she was gone, Dipper flipped through Gideon’s book, hoping for an explanation of the symbol.

“Hey, this is _my_ Journal, bud!” Gideon proclaimed, tearing it out of Dipper’s invisible hands.  “You’ve already messed this up enough, I don’t need your crummy help!”

Dipper shouted obscenities at the much younger boy, wishing more than ever that he could be heard.  By the sound of things inside, they had hardly any time left, and they still had no idea what Bill was doing, much less how to stop it.

As the boys bickered outside, Pacifica pushed through the crowds, leaving a trail of indignant exclamations behind her.  Above her, Mabel was preparing for the grand finale, holding the microphone close as she lured the patrons in with her enchanting words.  The sight of Pacifica wiggling onto the stage caught her mid sentence, bringing the theatrics to a halt.

“What are you doing here?” Mabel hissed, hand over the microphone.  Gideon she wouldn’t have minded so much, but seeing this walking fashion disaster again made her want to hurl.

“You need to come outside!” Pacifica begged, pulling on Mabel’s tights.  Now that the audience was quiet with confusion, the whirl of wind around them was far more noticeable.  Even Mabel seemed a little taken aback by the noise, knowing that this was no mere summer storm.

“Not now, can’t you wait to bother me until _after_ the finale?”  She looked around, noticing for the first time that she hadn't seen Dipper since that afternoon.  “Wait, is Dipper outside?  Is he getting ready?”

“Uh, sure!” Pacifica agreed, pulling harder as the frightening sound grew louder.  “Now will you _please_ come outside?”

Mabel gestured for the band to start playing the final song, set the microphone down, and followed Pacifica back through the horde of anxious people.  She was ready to pound Dipper for not being ready, but her violent disposition was quelled by the sight of Gideon.  Forgetting the weight of the situation, she bat her eyes and leaned close to him.  “What are you doing here, short, pale, and adorable?”

Gideon was aghast, disgusted enough by Mabel’s advance to stop looking through the Journal.  “Are you kidding?  You’re doing this _now?_ ”

Mabel was accustomed to flat-out rejection, not the terrified look on her Giddy-Pie’s face.  A flash of light from above outlined her brother’s silhouette atop the ladder, and four pairs of eyes looked to the sky.

“What’s he doing up there?” Mabel shouted.

“We don’t know, but Dipper and I are trying to figure that out,” Gideon informed, attention back on the Journal, which so far was proving useless.

“Dipper?  But…” Mabel looked harder at the figure atop the ladder.  Her brother’s sequined coat had flung open, looking more like a cape.  Both his person and the symbol were flashing light blue.  From the look on the kids’ faces, her initial gut reaction was correct.  That was not her brother.

“How do we stop him?”  Mabel leaned over Gideon’s shoulder for a peek at the book, but found it just as useless as he did.  This wasn’t a human spell, but a demonic one, something even the author of the Journals didn’t have the words to explain.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Pacifica asserted, one hand braced on the ladder.

“Are you crazy?” Gideon and Mabel snapped simultaneously.  Neither could go beyond that, though, as it was the only plan they had.  Anything was better than hoping they would stumble upon the answer in the book.  Gideon gave Pacifica a small nod, mouthing _Good luck_.

Without concern for her own safety, Pacifica lurched up the ladder, ballet-slippered toes gripping the rungs.  The clatter made Bill turn his head, and his one eye brightened at the sight of the girl.

“Pacifica!” Bill trilled, acknowledging her like an old friend.  His tone was casual, despite the flashes of light and yellow fire surrounding him.  “So glad you could make it!  But you should really get inside before it starts!”

“What’s ‘it’?”  Pacifica asked, eyeing the convulsing sigil.  Its detail was insidiously intricate up close, twisting the knot of worry in her stomach even tighter.

“Oh, just a little demon trick!” Bill answered without a moment’s hesitation.  “See, with this spell on the Tent, I can trap everyone inside!  Normally I need to be in the mindscape to power it, but Dipper’s amulet is handling that issue nicely!”

“Why do you want to trap everyone?” Pacifica kept her question conversational, as though she was merely asking what he had done over the weekend.

Bill twisted his head around on its pivotal joint, cracking his vertebrae to look straight at Pacifica.  His eye was wild, and saliva dripped from his gaping mouth.  “Why don’t you go find out?”

Pacifica shuddered at the sight of Dipper’s contorted body and the image he had put in her head.  Bill had summoned something otherworldly and fatal, when, the last time Pacifica had seen him, he had barely been able to speak to her.  This wasn’t the demon she thought she knew.

Bill’s arms reached higher, coaxing the sigil into rising slightly up the Tent and pivoting on its point.  As it span, casting a yellow glow, Pacifica caught a glimmer of pink.  Bill’s fingernails were still painted, shiny as ever in the spinning light.  The hint of an idea brought a smile to her face.

“Oh, Bill, you’re so _strong_ ,” Pacifica adulated, voice thick with honey.  She reached for his right arm, bringing it slightly below its neighbor.

The sigil’s movement slowed.  Bill twisted his head to the right, looked curiously at Pacifica’s hand on his arm with both eyes open, and whispered, “Are..you making fun of me?”

“Of course not, Bill!  You’re easily the best, most _powerful_ demon I know!”

Bill gave Pacifica a goofy grin, both arms barely raised.  All traces of the yellow fire were gone, making Bill’s blush hardly noticeable in the dim light.  “Gosh,” he murmured, “no one’s ever said I was _powerful_ before…”

Pacifica pulled gently on his arm, leading him down the ladder.  “Oh, sure!  No one else could pull _this_ off.  You’re really something, Bill.”

“Something!?”  Bill exclaimed, turning around too fast and almost falling to the ground.  “You mean it, Pacifica?”

“Look, he’s coming down!” Gideon yelled, watching Pacifica lead the demon away from the Tent’s point, where the sigil was still spinning, albeit slower.  “B-but the spell’s still going, how can we stop it?”

Dipper drew a circle within a circle on the page Gideon had stopped on and pointed the pen erratically to it.

Gideon squinted.  “Donuts?”  The mitten flew roughly into Gideon’s skull, nearly toppling him over.  “Okay, sorry, but you’re not the best artist.”

Dipper drew lines coming diagonally from the circle, as well as a few sparkles near the center.  “Oh, your amulet?” Gideon guessed.  Dipper didn’t hit him, so he had apparently guessed correctly.

“But the information on the amulet is in your Journal, and I haven’t read--” Gideon paused.  Dipper wasn’t writing anything, but it was clear what he wanted.  “No way, I’m not letting you in here!”

“It’s the only way!” Dipper wrote.  Gideon felt a liquid cold drip from his spine, drawing a taut line all the way down his back.  Something pressed against his mind, a foreign presence that was slightly familiar.

“Fine,” Gideon acquiesced, quieting his own thoughts and letting Dipper take over.  The transition was quick, lasting a short blink of Gideon’s eyes.

“This feels so much better!” Dipper exclaimed, wiggling Gideon’s fingers and toes with pleasure.  “Pretty short, though.  And this hair must weight a few pounds, at least.”

Dipper messed with his oversized mass of hair, still sticky with hairspray, until Mabel’s shouting brought him back to reality.  There was no time to get Journal 2, but Dipper had nearly memorized the page regarding his amulet, since he had personally crafted the ones for Mabel and himself.  He hoped it would be enough to do the trick.

“And have you always been so _blue?_  That color really suits you Bill, very charming,” Pacifica continued to praise, taking Bill down the last few steps.  Mabel met them there, but before she could grab Bill and knock some sense into him, Pacifica shook her head at her.  Normally Mabel wouldn’t have taken orders from a preteen, but Pacifica had managed to get Bill down, so she had to know what she was doing.  This time, at least.

Bill’s face was deep red, eyelashes fluttering with embarrassment.  “Aw, Pacifica, you’re making my cheeks all hot…”

“That just makes you look even cuter!” Pacifica encouraged, waving for Mabel to follow her lead.

“Um, yes, what she said,” Mabel added awkwardly, patting her brother’s hair with her a hand.  “You’re, uhm, not that bad, I guess.”

“We _love_ you, Bill!” Pacifica gave Bill a hug, eliminating any last defense he had.  Bill melted into her arms, completely forgetting what he had been doing.

Dipper stood as tall as he could, which wasn’t much given Gideon’s stature, cleared his throat, and began the incantation:

“ _Amulētum magicae, caligine obducta, dimittam vestra virtutem, deditionem tutus incantamentum!_ ”

The glass sphere around Bill’s neck shattered, the light contained in it dying as the pieces fell to the ground.  The symbol above the tent stopped its spinning, sucked the flashing lights back into its plain black lines, and settled back onto the canvas, now no more powerful than the Sharpie it had been drawn with.

Finally free of magical light, the night sky bled comforting darkness back over the Tent of Telepathy.  The Tent still glowed from within, but it seemed much less impressive than it had been at the night's beginning.  Compared to the spectacle they had just witnessed, the indoor lights were a cheap replacement.

Alerted by the shift in the atmosphere, Bill looked behind him, and saw his symbol sitting motionless.  The looks of terror he had feasted on before were gone.  Now _he_ was the one cowering before Pacifica and Mabel.

“No, no no no!” Bill protested, trying to move his arms but finding them still trapped in Pacifica’s embrace.  He strained against his fleshy restraints, then relaxed as though a switch had been flipped.  Dipper’s eyes closed, and a small blue shape rose from his head, edges squiggly and broken.

As quickly as they had closed, Dipper’s eyes reopened, free of their yellow taint.  Before the sobbing demon could escape, Dipper snatched Bill from the air, gripping him hard enough to curve his sides together.

“And where do you think _you’re_ going?”


	14. Chapter 14

“That’s probably enough.  The Tent looks even cleaner than before!”

All of the shoes had been cleared from the Tent floor, and a fresh summer breeze was whisking away their horrendous odor.  The stage was devoid of instruments and people who thought they could play them.  Even Dipper’s glass jars had never gleamed so brightly.

“Guess we should probably send the maid over to the Mystery Shack, huh?  We did make quite a mess during free corn dog night,” Mabel admitted, smiling at the memories of batter-encased sausages on a stick.  Repulsive as the food had been, it had at least been free, both of cost and of magical complications.  After last Friday, that was all Mabel really wanted.

“Sounds good,” Dipper agreed, Journal propped open against his bandaged left arm.  Pacifica’s gel pen appeared to be permanent, but he wouldn’t have erased those markings if he had wanted to.  They would serve as a good reminder the next time he wanted a supernatural creature to do his chores.  Apart from today, of course.  “Maid, get in here!”

Bill, wearing a frilly black-and-white outfit instead of his usual top hat and tie, floated meekly into the Tent.  “I-I got the Sharpie off the tent, just like you asked!”

“Good, now go to the Mystery Shack and clean up their place, too,” Dipper ordered, snapping his fingers.

“B-b-but,” Bill protested, “I didn’t even-”

“Bill,” Mabel interrupted, “are you suggesting we give you _more_ work?”

“It only seems fair,” Dipper shrugged, “he did try to kill us and half the people in Gravity Falls.  Not to mention giving me this terrible haircut.”  Dipper had done his best to reverse Bill’s damage, but a few noticeable uneven spots remained.  Dipper couldn’t bring himself to remove the nail polish, though, and decided to let that one slide.

“N-no, ma’am!” Bill shook, giving Mabel a weak salute with his feather duster.  “I’ll get over there right away.”

“Tell them we said hi!” Mabel grinned, feeling very satisfied as she watched Bill leave.

“You think we can trust them to handle Bill?” Dipper asked his sister.

“Of course,” she nodded, “I think they can take care of themselves.”

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism is super appreciated!


End file.
